


Breaking and Entering

by GigiHudson (velvetiia)



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Anal, Anger, Angst, Blow Jobs, Frottage, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Masturbation, Mixed Signals, Oral Sex, Really great sex, Sex Pollen, dark fantasies, well it's mentioned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-22
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-15 19:32:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/853235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velvetiia/pseuds/GigiHudson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirk has known for almost 5 months that he has feelings for Spock. For 3 months, he has known that he's in love with him. For 1 hour, he's known he's blown his chance. Which is why he goes to drown his demons in a bar, pick up whoever will have him, and fuck until he forgets everything he's lost. But he's Jim Kirk, and danger just never seems to miss him for long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Burning Up

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by the song Breaking and Entering by Tonight Alive, which struck me as being a Kirk/Spock song. This is my first ever fanfic for Star Trek and I've only been a fan for 2 weeks, so I hope it's ok! It's also unbeta'd so any mistakes are my own and I apologise for them. Feel free to tell me if you liked it or not, at velvetiia.tumblr.com/ask

When Kirk first got himself captured, he really didn’t expect it. When he beamed down planet side with the sole intent of getting blind drunk and hooking up with whoever would have him, he really didn’t anticipate a stray group of Eretchi showing up and chloroforming him before he could even react. Not that they needed to chloroform him; he’d drunk enough Ivivian vodka that they were only vaguely menacing blurs when they grabbed him and slammed a cloth over his mouth. All in all, it was turning out to be a shitty day. 

Of course if he’d worked out his issues with Spock, and issues was putting it nicely, he wouldn’t have gone in that damn space station. For the last 3 months, all he had been able to do was realise he had feelings for Spock. Only they didn’t just obediently make themselves scarce, they were always there. Of course he’d known for nearly a year that he felt something, but he was Jim Kirk damn it, and if he didn’t want to look too closely at something that felt a lot less like friendship than it should, then he sure as shit wouldn’t. And then Chekov got him and Spock dosed with…well…sex pollen was the best name he’d managed to give it. 

The bright red flowers indigenous to the jungle planet of X’av’t, had spurted clouds of powdery pink that make his head spin with desire, blurring his surrounding’s and focusing all his thoughts on the tightening in his pants, his raspy, hitched breaths. He blamed Chekov. It had been the first time Chekov had wanted to go planetside with them, and when he looked at the Ensign’s bright eyes and expectant smile, he was unable to do anything but say “Sure kid. Suit up and meet us at the transporter pad in 10 ok?” It was 15 minutes later that the 3 of them, plus the 3 members of their security detail beamed back up and rushed to sickbay. It had been in those few minutes between beaming up and sickbay that had been the worst. He’d managed to control himself, barely, but when he’d seen Spock and felt that familiar heat stirring in his groin, he knew. Spock had been hit too; he knew it, and no matter what the Vulcan bastard said, he knew it had affected him. When his eyes’s met Spock’s, his breath caught in his throat and he felt his dick go from half mast to full. Spock’s eye’s were no longer the warm brown they usually were; instead they were almost black, burning with desire and an almost violent fury that literally left Jim breathless. It was Spock’s trembling and those eyes that he thought of every night for the next 3 months, every time he jerked himself off, all he could think about was those damn eyes and that fucking trembling. It was the reason he finished into his hand with Spock’s name on his lips ever night.

Before the incident, he’d been friendly with the Vulcan. He enjoyed their chess games, the way Spock would make dry, biting remarks that made Jim laugh with his whole body, the answering shine in Spock’s eyes. They’d progressed from a professional and distant relationship to a friendship of sorts. They spent the majority of their off shifts with each other, whether catching up on the day to day running of the ship or simply playing chess and talking. Spock had, without him even realising it, become his closest friend. A confidant. It was Spock who he turned to when he had doubts and fears and it was Spock in his infuriatingly calm manner that abolished those fears with confidence. He’d never had that sort of relationship with anyone before, estranged from his family as he was, and even Bones never got to see that side of Jim. He panicked enough over him as it was, it was why Jim’s mantra was always “never let him see the damage.” While Bones could see through the façade of bright smiles and too bright eyes, it was only Spock that got to see him without them. 

He’d gotten under his skin. It made him furious. 

He’d never expected it. It had snuck up on him like a killer, silent and sure. It was 5 months ago that he’d realised his feelings were more than “friendly.” When he finally confronted them, he realised he’d felt that way for almost a year. But it was the sex pollen incident that had pushed him over the edge, tinged his thoughts with a desperation. His unhappiness at the lack of reciprocation was no longer sadness but an almost all consuming desolation. It hurt him to even think about Spock now, think of him with other men, other women, leaving Jim standing alone the Enterprise when their mission was finished and walking off into a new life that didn’t include him, washing away memories of their friendship as easily as rains washing chalk off a sidewalk. Before, he had been content to simply revel in the miracle that was their unlikely friendship, the time that Spock allowed them to spend together, the way he would allow Jim to see the tiniest hint of a smile when they were alone together. It had been enough. 

But after the sex pollen, it was never enough. He cut himself off from Spock, stopped their chess games, moved their day to day catch up’s to the meeting room instead of Jim’s quarters. If he would never get to have Spock in the way he wanted, damn it needed, then it was easier to act as though he had already left. If Spock even noticed the sudden coldness, he never mentioned it. But the smiles had stopped.

Until last night. When Spock had come to Jim’s quarters and asked in that infuriating voice if he could come in. It didn’t seem to matter to the pointy eared bastard, no, he’d just come right in. Which had to be the worst timing ever, because he’d let himself in after Jim had made his way through ¾ of a bottle of Scotty’s best whiskey and was in the process of stripping for bed. Only he’d been so drunk, he hadn’t even realised Spock was in the room until he turned to retrieve the bottle from where he’d left it and smacked into his First Officer. 

“Spock…” he laughed, because wasn’t it funny that the man he was fantasising about was right there? Right when he wanted him. “C’mere Spock.” Which was a pointless thing to say, because Spock couldn’t have been any closer to Jim without physically touching him. But everything was blurry and warm, so it didn’t matter that that wasn’t what he was asking. He leaned forward slightly, taking it as a good sign that Spock still hadn’t stepped back. He leaned forward even more, until he was almost nose to nose with the Vulcan, who still hadn’t moved away. And then because he was drunk, and 3 months is a long time to exist on dark, desperate fantasies alone, he leaned the rest of the way in and captured Spock’s mouth in a desperate, urgent kiss. Spock stiffened beneath his roaming fingers, but still didn’t step back, so he ran his tongue along Spock’s lips until they opened beneath him and god, he’d be damned if that wasn’t the best taste in the world. Suddenly his hands fisted in Spock’s hair and he was pushing him against a wall, the heat he felt from the Vulcan living up to every one of his fantasies. But then after he groaned into Spock’s mouth, rubbing his groin against him, he felt himself be gently but firmly pushed up. He looked up with a smirk that died on his lips when he saw Spock’s face. “…Spock?” 

Spock’s face was a blank mask, devoid of any emotion. But he didn’t need to show emotion for Jim to know his feelings were most emphatically not reciprocated. There was a set to Spock’s lips that spoke of anger and a glint in his eyes that looked dangerous to Jim. As he watched, Spock turned stiffly and walked out of his quarters leaving an utterly broken Jim Kirk behind. 

He sank down on the bed, eyes closes in anguish because god fucking damn it, how could he be so stupid. He knew from the beginning that while he might have managed to steal friendship from Spock, like the world’s best thief, even he couldn’t steal anything more than that. Spock had no romantic feelings towards him. When had he forgotten that? He’d known for a long time that wanting something so badly it hurts still doesn’t make it come true. It that were the case, he’d have a family that loved him instead of a mother that couldn’t stand the sight of him and a brother that would rather pretend they were only brief acquaintances. If wishing something made it true, he wouldn’t be sat in the corner of his room with a bottle of whiskey in his hand and tears stinging his eyes. 

He was as he would always be; Jim Kirk, the royal fuckup, the disappointment, the kid that could never live up to his father’s legacy, the boy that no one wanted. Not his family, not the Academy, and not Spock. He’d pulled off the biggest trick of his life, fooling everyone into thinking he was Captain material. Fooling Spock into being his friend. All of it, it was all bullshit. He was worth nothing. He wasn’t a Starfleet Captain, he was no one. Nothing. He shouldn’t even be on the Enterprise, let alone Captain of the flagship. He threw the bottle of whiskey across the room listening to the satisfying smash it made as it collided with the wall opposite, the amber liquid trailing slowly down the wall. He couldn’t do this, he couldn’t stay here watching the broken glass as if it would suddenly answer the questions bursting in his mind. He felt like Spock had broken into his mind, gotten under his skin, hidden inside his head and now he didn’t know how to get him out. Now he didn’t want to. 

He stood up, his shoulders hunched as he pulled on his uniform over his black boxers. He considered taking the communicator with his, but what was the point? The only person that he wanted to talk to wouldn’t call him and it wasn’t like he could be of any use to the ship; he was only ever good when Spock was with him.


	2. Falling Apart

He woke up with the painful post-chloroform headache, which coupled with his hangover was doing nothing good. It was almost pitch dark wherever he was, the only light an orange glow coming from a few lamps in the distance, mostly obscured by dark silhouettes. Though his vision was still hazy, he worked out that he'd probably been left in the engineering room of a ship, judging from the look of the hulking silhouettes. Which, well, fuck. He shuffled a little, trying to feel if he was injured, and discovered that the cold, bruising pain around his wrists was a pair of handcuffs. The thick metal bands were securing his numb hands behind his back.

He tried to roll forward, cursing his clumsy movements as he tried to stagger to his feet, only to be pulled back down again with a sharp yank. He hit the dirty ground with a quiet " _motherfucker_ -" and then realised what had happened. Those son of a _bitch_ bastards hadn't just handcuffed him, they'd chained him to a pole. Jim fought the urge to laugh, a hysterical sound that rose in his throat as he realised they'd probably been prepared for him. The famous Captain Kirk. Of course they couldn't have just cuffed him, because he was Jim fucking Kirk. He was known for being the daring young Captain, not the fucking pining drunk. What a disappointment he must be, he thought bitterly. 

If they'd hoped to get anything for him, they were out of luck. Starfleet didn't negotiate with terrorists, and not a single soul there would think that James Kirk was worthy of a rescue mission. Oh he knew what they'd do; there would be a press conference about the tragedies his family was cursed with, how brave and heroic his father had been, and then no doubt a small, awkward eulogy for him, the "youngest Captain in history." Then he would be just a name etched on a plaque, with maybe a few friends toasting to him somewhere.

And then that dark hysteria rose again, because what friends did he have? The crew of the Enterprise? They worked for him. They weren't friends. They'd get a new captain and carry on. Bones would mourn him, "Goddamn that stupid son of a bitch. Never listened to me. Never." but really, he'd probably just be relieved. He'd be free from all of Jim's shit, all the baggage that he carried around like a tumour. Free from Jim. He was too good for the Enterprise. Bones was top of his field, could get a placement anywhere. He just stuck with Jim because he was a _good person_. And Spock. Spock would be a Captain in his own right. If anyone was too good for the Enterprise it was him. No doubt he'd be Jim's replacement.   
  
Maybe it was a good thing that he'd die here. 

Nothing in his shitty life had been easy, but god he'd fought so for it. Even for the tiniest bit of freedom here and there, he'd _fought_. And then he'd realised how useless it was, how his mother couldn't look him in the eye anymore because at 14 he was turning into a smaller version of his father. How her hands would shake as they curled around the neck of a whiskey bottle, and how his brother would curl his lip in disgust like he couldn't wait to be rid of them both. How his brother would sometimes lash out at him because it was his fault they were losing Mom and they both knew it. And then he was finally old enough to leave them behind so he did, without so much as a second glance. 

So he'd given up. Stepdad number 5 left around the same time and that was when Winona Kirk disappeared down the bottom of a bottle and never came out again. So Jim smoke, and drank, and fucked, and fought because there was nothing else to do but wait to die. Sometimes he'd chase it. He'd get drunk then head out on his bike, going faster and faster as if he could out run himself. It never worked. 

But then there had been Starfleet, and finally someone that believed in him. Someone that gave a damn, and _jesus_ , he wanted it. He didn't want to be a let down anymore, a fuck up. He could be smart if he wanted to, not that there had been much point earlier, but now there was someone to disappoint. Someone to make proud. Someone who gave a damn.

Having a heroic legend for a father was a little like being haunted. Whatever he did, the ghost of George Kirk was always there. Whatever he did, wasn't good enough. How could he even come close to being anywhere near as good as his father? His fuckups too, those were worse. His father was so good, so brave, he could almost imagine him standing there with a look of disgust on his face, the same face that looked back in the mirror at him everyday. 

So he'd tried. And for once, it had actually gone right for him. He'd returned a hero, a Captain, and it was all going ok. There was even someone for him to make proud. But he had to go and fuck it up, because tat was what he did. Spock being his friend was a privilege in itself, and he should have known better. He was a Captain, not a horny teenage boy. And he should have fucking known better than to drunkenly force himself on Spock and ruin any chance of friendship.

He'd tried to cut him off before, realising that having feelings for someone that won't, can't return them isn't healthy. He'd tried to distance himself from that, and if he still thought of Spock at night, in the darkness, then that was nobodies business but his own. It hurt. God, it hurt. It felt like someone had carved their way through his chest with a blunt spoon, but he sucked it up because that was how it worked. You kept going, you hid the damage with a smirk. It was all he knew.  
  
And now, look at where he was. James Tiberius Kirk was going to die hungover, dirty and alone, on his knees. And all he could think about was how at least he'd gotten to kiss Spock just _once_.  

 


	3. Emotional Reaction To External Stimuli

Spock returned to his quarters, his hands shaking as he stood just inside the large room. The door closed quietly behind him, but he could not bring himself to move. Instead, while breathing heavily, he called up a report on his systems. _Focus has decreased to 47.662%_. He recoiled away from the knowledge, the obvious human flaw that he was emotionally affected by external stimuli. _Jim had kissed him._ The thought overwhelmed his mind, as did the emotions that followed, and were promptly shuttered away again. Vulcans were content to let the Federation believe that they did not lie, yet they were perhaps the greatest liars of all. Vulcans perpetuated the knowledge that they did not feel emotion, when the opposite was true. They felt it far more deeply than other races, so much so that their whole culture was devoted to suppressing and denying it's existence within them.  

But it wasn't true. 

Spock had discovered that at 6.32 years old, when he had been confronted by his classmates. They had ridiculed his mother, informing him that it was illogical of his father to dirty himself with a human whore. Spock had felt the anger inside him, but instead of repressing it, had let it overcome him. He punched the small Vulcan boy in the face, heard the satisfying crunch of bone and seen the spray of verdant blood before he suddenly came back to himself, realising his human error. His breathing was heavy as he turned away from them, his small fists shaking at his sides, still trying to suppress the maelstrom of emotion that burned within him. Fury, at his supposed peers comments about his mother, shame, at how he had reacted, and pain, at the cruelty from the species that were supposed to be above the human flaw of emotion.  
  
A superior species, yet they were still held back by xenophobia and age old prejudice. While he had always strived to be a model Vulcan citizen, he had secretly harboured shame and resentment in regards to Vulcan prejudice.   
  
He had returned home to his mother that day and taken comfort in her arms wrapped around him, the smell of her cinnamon perfume calming him. It had been the last time he had allowed himself to take comfort in his mothers arms. Sarek had never witnessed his small displays of half-human weakness, spending the majority of his time on his ambassadorial duties. Amanda had worked from home. Spock had always suspected it was due to her human nature, that she wanted to spend time with her son. It was not the Vulcan way. Children were not indulged with emotion, nor superfluous time with their parents. But Amanda had never seen their time spent together as superfluous, despite Spock informing her of its abnormality among Vulcan childrearing. 

_"Mother." Amanda looked up from the communications data she was translating, seeing a young Spock standing beside her. "Yes, Spock?"  Her voice was warm, inviting. She had always loved it when he would engage her in conversation._  
 _"Why do you frequent here? Is it not illogical to work with less equipment that would be of assistance?" His small voice sounded uncertain. She put down her PADD then, turning to face Spock. She held her hand out to him, as was tradition between them, so that he may read her true emotions as she spoke to him. It had always been a secret between them, for he was not supposed to want anything, least of all emotions. But he had always valued his mother above all else, and while she had learnt to project mental shields worthy of a Vulcan, she allowed Spock to see her true emotions when she spoke to him._

_"I work from home because I would rather spend my time with you. The lack of equipment doesn't bother me, it's still more advanced than what we have on Earth currently. I'm your mother Spock, and wouldn't give that up for anything, least of all some communications equipment. Despite what might be the norm here, I will always love you and want to spend my time with you. Do you understand?"  He did. It was illogical, but his mother always was. He understood that came from her human nature. She placed love, affection and happiness over logic. It was their secret that he loved his mother in return, and the time they spent together was more precious to him than any other. While he loved his father, though more reservedly and without ever displaying it, it was his mother that inspired true love. She calmed him, comforted him, and while it was illogical to seek her response to his actions, her pride made him happy. He valued her opinion more than anyone else's, even his father._

Spock realised he had retreated into his memories, and when he looked down he saw that his fists were tightly clenched. Memories of his mother still hurt. It was illogical, the wound should have healed by now, but it still hadn't. Some days, when the grief overcame him again, he wondered if it ever would. Vulcans familial bonds were not supposed to be broken, and never with such violence. Spock had received reports from New Vulcan that 78.9994% of the remaining Vulcans were suffering from the broken bonds they had sustained. It ranged from mild discomfort to severe mental trauma. It was reminiscent of the Terran post-traumatic stress disorder.  They were suffering, whether they would admit it or not. He had meditated on the idea of joining the colony on New Vulcan to do his duty and assist with the repopulating and rebuilding, but a selfish voice had whispered that he didn't have to, that he wanted to stay here. He wanted to stay with Jim, to stay at Starfleet. He was still struggling to come to a decision.   
  
 _Was that what had occurred tonight? Did Jim pick up on my own desires and indulge me in them?_  
  
He understood, of course, that when Terrans became intoxicated they lost their inhibitions and were prone to acting illogically. Perhaps Jim had picked up on his feelings. The thought terrified him. The emotions terrified him almost as much, but the idea that Jim would become aware of them had caused him to panic. At first, he had simply been fascinated by the cadet, by his intelligent chaos. He was _interesting_ , in a way that so few people were to him. He was also warm. Spock was used to feeling like an outside; too human for Vulcans to accept but too Vulcan, too alien, for everyone else. Even within the rest of the Federation, Vulcans were still considered alien. Their culture and their traditions were shrouded in secrecy, and they were so disciplined and unemotional that he knew the rest of the Federation was uneasy with them. The same had been true no matter where he went. 

But Jim was different. Jim did not view him as a curiosity, but as an equal. A friend. 

It was their friendship that he valued above all else. He had never had a friend before. Nyota had been his student, and then his colleague. He had embarked on a romantic relationship with her simply because he found her company intellectually stimulating and pleasing. Yet even while they were together, there was something sterile about their relationship. It felt rehearsed somehow, out of step with each other. He respected her greatly, but did not feel as though he could share his emotions the way he could with Jim. While she could, in the barest sense of the word be counted as a friend, he felt that perhaps, as she was the one who ended their relationship, that she had grown to find his company displeasing. He was not well skilled in understanding or interpreting Terran relationships. They were always illogical.   
  
As he sat on the end of his bed, fists curled tightly at his sides in an effort to contain his fear, the thought occurred to him that perhaps he had lost Jim's friendship. With that came the unwelcome feeling of pain, _so much pain_ , and loneliness. Jim was warmth, and light and chaos. He was infuriating, illogical and constantly challenging Spock in a way that caused his hard earned control to snap on occasion but he was the centre of goodness in Spock's life. He would go to whatever lengths possible to assuage this conflict between them, not for the logical reasons, but for the utterly illogical one that he had been desperately trying to ignore for 3 months, 16 days and 37 minutes. 


End file.
